


Dust to Dust

by AshVee



Category: Firefly
Genre: Crew Feels, Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-04-07
Updated: 2017-04-07
Packaged: 2018-10-16 02:49:20
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,087
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10562163
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/AshVee/pseuds/AshVee
Summary: You're as lonely as you want to be in the Black.





	

**Author's Note:**

> Bit of a Civil Wars song fic. Let me know what you think! This is a transplant from my FF.net account

-Zoe-

Jayne stood up on the catwalk, staring down at the hull as a herd of horses bumped shoulders and pawed at the metal grating. He'd been there for the better part of four hours, taking his turn on watch. Left alone the dumb animals might churn themselves up, lash out with tooth and hoof and damage their valuable hides. Jayne didn't much mind the damage as he cared about the money lost.

"Relief, Jayne," Zoe's voice cut through him like a cold wind, and he startled, swinging Vera around for the fraction of a second before letting her relax down to his hip.

"Bout damn time," he growled, stepping past her with the dull sound of steel toe'd boot against the metal grating. "Been down here an age already."

"It was four hours, Jayne," Zoe said, meeting his glare without flinching. He looked away, pretending to challenge her gaze by staring between her eyebrows, at the end of her nose, anything to keep from looking into her eyes.

Since Wash had...well, since the ruttin' pilot had gone and got himself speared through the chest, Zoe had gone cold. Sometimes Jayne wondered if the whole of River's little mind was wrong and it wasn't something in the air that had made Reevers. Sometimes, when he met Zoe's eye, he thought maybe it was loneliness, the type of bone deep loneliness that came with losing your other half, that caused the sickness in the brain.

Because Jayne didn't have any doubts that Zoe was lonely. She screamed it in every word she let slip past her lips, in the way that she hunched in on herself when she didn't think anyone was watching, in the way she disappeared into her old bunk well before the night cycles. He didn't have to meet her eyes to be able to see it, to know it.

"Long four hours," Jayne said, brushing past her, letting his hand come out and grasp her shoulder as if to move her. If he was a little rough with pushing her to the side, it was to hide that he'd wanted to lay hand there, to try and soak up some of that pain and take it with him. Because Jayne was a big man. He had broad shoulders. He figured, as he settled into his bunk with Vera that he could take some of that from her, but only if no one knew about it.

-Jayne-

River lay in the air vents, escaping from the interfering of her brother. Occasionally, she was still just a girl that needed desperately to be alone. Even after the wave that went across the 'Verse, even after her secret that wasn't hers was known to the world, she felt shattered when the darkness settled into her heart. It helped to be without the constant haze of happiness that floated through her brother or Kaylee's mind. It was nice, sometimes, to be pulled into the warmth, but at times...at times darkness was a bigger comfort.

Sometimes, River found herself laying in the vents above the kitchen, listening to the comings and goings, usually when Jayne was there. His mind was a dark thing with twists and turns that ended in surprising places. River liked to follow those twists as she listened to his words.

"Ain't gotta think too hard'ta figure out the man's useless." Jayne was talking about their latest attempt at hiring a pilot. The man was a skilled enough flyer, but he had none of the heart of Wash, none of the natural bond with the ship, with their home, and it showed.

"Yeah, but there's not another pilot on the cortex lookin's take our line of work with our pay," Mal reasoned. Mal's mind was always on par with his words. It was comforting in its own way, but River liked following Jayne's better.

"Horseshit, Mal," Jayne said, voice rising while his mind delved into dark places. "Hell, I could fly'er better'n'im."

"Jayne, I'm not putting you on the Bridge. That's the way of it."

"I'm not askin'-"

"Push me again, Jayne, and see what happens." The silence that came told River more than any words could. Jayne would be standing, shoulders pushed forward in a posture reminiscent of the gorilla of Earth-That-Was. Mal would be standing back on his heel, one leg out in front of the other, his body turned sideways as if to make a smaller target. There would be steel in both of them, but Jayne would cave with a vicious-

"Yella' bastard," Jayne muttered, gathering something up and making for the door. River sighed into the airvent, relaxing against the cool metal at her back.

Sometimes, River thought that maybe Jayne knew. Maybe he knew they could see through him. His words were spit like a snake, but they didn't give away the core of him, the lonesome piece that was just a man standing alone. If he did, though, he'd stop trying to hide behind words.

River was a reader, though. She could see into things. She could see into Jayne as easily as she could see into anyone else. He was a lonely man, made lonelier by his own will because if you didn't have anyone standing beside you, they couldn't stab you in the back. If, on occasion, River let good memory and warm hope flood from her into to the big man, if she stood at his back and made sure he saw her defending it, then it was worth the inconvenience.

She was a reader. She was a warrior. She could watch all of them.

-Mal-

Inara sat in her shuttle, carefully running a brush through her hair, taking pleasure in the practice. It was late, and sounds from the kitchen floated down through the rest of the ship, through the air vents and into her little piece of Serenity. Most days, there was a welcome roar of laughter, conversation. Most days, she would join them, but sometimes she wanted her own peace.

So, about two nights a week she took dinner in her shuttle and just listened to the sounds of the crew. She could pick out their individual voices. Jayne was a low rumble that she couldn't ever force into words. Simon was light and clear, ringing even, combined with Kaylee's happy chuckles. Zoe was the silence of the ship, those moments that seemed to just stretch on a little too long. Mal was the easiest to pick out. His was the boisterous laughter, the loud, booming laugh that covered up everything else.

The laugh that hid the way that he stared at Wash's pilot's chair, the way he watched River to make sure she was alright, the way his forehead creased when Zoe did something further and further from her character, the way he pushed at Jayne, just to get him to do something but sit in his bunk.

Inara was a companion. She was trained in giving men what they wanted. So, it stood to reason, that she be adept at reading their desires. Mal wasn't outside her ability.

The man craved freedom, yes, but he found that in Serenity. He wanted power, like all men do, and his status as Captain gave it to him. Mal needed a full belly and something to keep his hands busy. The job gave him both.  
But Mal wanted something else. He wanted family. He wanted something to fill the hole in his chest that made him feel hollow, and no matter how tightly he grasped, he couldn't seem to force the people in his life into that hole. They slipped away from him, partly because of their own stubborn natures and partly because he was too prideful to hold on long enough.

So no matter how loud Mal laughed, she could heard the loneliness in him. It was in the way he watched Kaylee and River like a father. In the way he seemed to try to cushion Zoe from the world; in the way he pushed Jayne to do better, be better. In the way he tried to help Simon grow out of the cookie cutter core man they'd made of him. Inara could see it, could watch it in him, and if she occasionally let him feel the warmth of her smile, the weight of her leaning to support him, she could handle it.

-River-

Zoe didn't like to admit it, but she watched River like she would've watched the child she'll never have. River was the youngest, and if you just looked at her, you wouldn't see that she was the most worn. There was a thinness to her, a veiled mask that she painted on each morning with smiles and a forced smoothness to her brow and eyes. Sometimes, that mask fell away and you could see how superficial it was, how angry the water of the river churned beneath the frozen surface.

Watching her pull it back around her, tie her emotions back behind a placid sheen...well, it was as impressive as it was frightening. Sometimes Zoe wished she could do the same thing because no one ever asked River if she was alright anymore. People just smiled and looked at her as if she was a child. Sometimes Zoe thought River did it on purpose.

"Did you know that when they left Earth that Was, there were only two horses taken? What we have today are all related to those horses. Adam and Eve. Down to a cosmic pair." River had startled her, and Zoe turned to glance at the young girl.

"I didn't know that little one," Zoe answered. River's eyes were flickering back and forth over the herd, as if she was trying to make sense of something.

"You can see it in the lack of genetic variance, how we've had to meddle to keep enough genetic material to remain viable. I can see it. I can see how they-" She paused, her face taking on that perfectly blank exterior, losing the calculating gaze. "I want to see them run."

And she did. From the simple tone and the blanketed truth, Zoe knew she couldn't have lied so completely with such ease, but it was only that, a layer to hide what was going on underneath. With something as simple as hereditary breeding and horses it didn't matter, but sometimes River would say things while they were out in the Black between planets, things that would have set everyone on edge if she hadn't have followed them up with a line of pretty Earth poetry or an observation so silly that it made her previous words meaningless.

Occasionally, Zoe thought that Mal saw it, saw beneath that surface and the acting. He called her Albatross when he did, and River liked it. Zoe pretended she didn't, but if she went out of her way to spend time with the girl, hunt her down when she had been gone just a little too long, well, Zoe would say it was for her own good, her own company. That way, River could continue to pretend, act, wear the mask. It wasn't like Zoe had anyone else to talk to.

-Inara-

Mal knew Inara. He knew her down to the pretty little heart of her, to the core. He knew that she told the truth with sharp words and she lied with pleasant ones. He'd seen her riled up from time to time, not watching her cadence and tone and rhythm of speech. He liked those moments the best.

Those moments when she wasn't Inara Serra, Companion. Those moments when she was just Inara, just crew. She wasn't so on edge, wasn't so guarded. It was better when she was just herself, when she wasn't making sure to mind herself. He liked to keep her on her toes, on the edge of losing herself if only because once she wrapped herself up in pretty words, it was harder to get her back.

So he poked. He prodded. He called her a whore with his tongue and the exact opposite with his eyes. He pressed until she rose up against him and then he retreated. It was a dance he'd gotten good at. Sometimes, he wanted to stop, to press until she rose up against him and stay there. He wanted to make her forget what they'd taught her to say, what she thought she should say, and leave nothing left but Inara.

Except Inara Serra was what she wanted to be. She rented the shuttle. She paid him. So, like any good landlord, he toe the line but didn't cross it. If, from time to time, he got a little too close, he'd say that it was in his nature instead of for her. He'd lie to himself. He'd lie to her, and in the end, if it hurt him, it helped her.

-Madcap: Moon of Kerry-

The job took them a lot of places, but Madcap was one of the crew's favorites. It was a small moon with simple people leading simple lives. The horses were no worse for wear, and the people were happy enough to have them around for a day or two to get their ground legs back under them and to resupply. They'd been thrusters up for the last week, and no one was real eager to get started again.

The land was beautiful with rolling grass plains and little tree clusters that seemed to follow streams and rivers. The village was nestled adjacent to one such little wood, protected by a ravine at its back and a wide open plain in front of it. Mal liked it. He liked it about as much as he liked anything that wasn't higher ground. You'd see an enemy coming for miles. No one could come at your back…

He sighed, settling against a log and turning so that the other side of his legs were warmed by the fire. It was their last night, and the people had insisted upon thanking them and sending them off the only way they knew how: with potato liquor and roast deer. Kaylee and River were playing around the fire, chasing each other this way and that, and Mal'd be a liar if he said the sight didn't make him warmer than the bonfire did. There were three or four-depending on the moment-village children playing along with them, and from time to time, River looked like she wasn't pretending to laugh, to enjoy herself.

Zoe was sitting a little ways off with a few of the village women, speaking in low voices that rose on occasion in boisterous laughter. They were a good people here, a good people for Zoe. They were rough around the edges, salty people, earthy people. Hell, they were a good people for Mal too. Jayne, not so much, given that the gunman had struck out with every piece of ass of age since they'd touched down, but no one was sayin' that was a bad thing.  
A wind blew up out of the west, sending the sweet smell of the wild flowers from the plain dancing through the village center. The stars gave them enough light that they didn't have much but the one bonfire, and it was a pleasant sort of darkness. A darkness you could see through, that didn't seem to hide anything so much as it made the world softer.

"You look like you're enjoying yourself." Mal turned, smiling at Inara over his shoulder.

"I am at that," he said, turning back toward the fire. It would have been a dismissal if he hadn't scooted over in the grass, leaving the blanket he'd been sitting on for her. She took it, settling back against the fallen tree trunk with a sigh that sounded less rehearsed and more natural than most of her noises.

"It's beautiful here," she said. He had to agree, for more reason than one. On most planets, Inara wore her companion garb. The delicate silks and satins beaded and gilded. Here, she'd traded them for a soft cotton dress one of the local women had insisted she take. He would shoot the first person to say it, but Mal thought the light purple suited her far more than the reds and golds and oranges that she usually wore. She pulled the thick horse blanket out from beneath her to wrap around her shoulders.

"Does have a charm all it's own. Be sad to see it go."

"So will I." There was a wistfulness to her tone, a longing that she didn't often let anyone hear.

"Don't have to leave, you know."

"Of course we have to leave." She was chiding him, and he knew it. Sure they did. Surely as they had to have another job, as Inara had a client in ten days on Boros.

"Maybe come back in a turn or two," he said instead. She didn't answer, but the little smile at the corner of her eyes told him what she thought of the idea.

"Oy!" Mal's eyes shot over to Jayne as the big man shouted. There, perched on his back and shoulder and hanging off a hip and the opposite knee, a troupe of young boys went to work, bringing the big man to the ground for tickling fingers to torture him into submission. "Bastards all'o ya!" he shouted, but everyone laughed as the smallest of the group, no more than three, climbed atop his chest and sat there, staring down at him with a stern set to his mouth and declaring Jayne his property.

"I do think I have to defend my gunman's honor," Mal said, no longer wanting the quiet of the fire. "If you'll excuse me."

If, for the next hour, he was rolling around in the dirt with the village children, shouting and chasing and staining his knees, he wouldn't admit it when the sun rose. Just like River wouldn't admit that she'd been more free than she'd felt in months. Just like Zoe wouldn't admit that she'd not felt the keen loss of Wash. Just like Jayne wouldn't admit to letting that three year old order him around until the small hours. Just like Inara wouldn't admit that she'd eaten deer with her hands and worn a peasant's frock.

In the morning, when the Serenity took off from Madcap, if there were fewer walls between them, fewer hurdles to separate them, none would comment on it.


End file.
